Halbdunkel
by adele4
Summary: Series of drabbles centered on Ryou Bakura: redefining death, more or less illusionary escapes, deceivingly inoffensive seeming rings.
1. Eternity

_AN: Title means "semi-obscurity" or "semi-obscure".  
Thanks to Wise Man Domingo for language-beta-ing! _  
_I don't own YuGiOh._

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Eternity

He had written the last letter on the day the spirit spoke to him for the first time.

It was cheerful and simple, as always: no matter how sad he felt when starting, how deep and meaningful he wished it to be – writing to Amane made him feel at peace too strongly.

He talked of new beginnings.

Sometimes, he wished to die and find her; sometimes, he wished to live and be able to keep writing.

Death was mysterious, soft and frightening.

Life was real.

But death is now made of powerlessness or rage, and repetitive awakenings to clouded reality.


	2. Knowledge

_**AN:**Double-drabble; again, I thank Wise Man Domingo for looking this over for grammar and spelling mistakes._

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Knowledge

You are real.  
You are continuation after the end, a voice that has not died when your mouth dried away in the sand, a force that did not vanish when your body faded to dust; you are opening between two realms, overlap and disappearance of them. You are magic turned into reality with all its simplicity and its mystery. I knew you would exist: I've searched for signs and felt voices, known of hidden mysteries, seen beyond as far as I could with my limited sight.  
I am not afraid of you. You have no power over me.

I am as real as all your dreams and childish hopes for magic. I am the revived messenger from the past and from the realm of death you've tried to raise. I am evidence of continuation, of inexistence of death. I am a duplication of yourself, a mirror of your soul to take in your thoughts and your appearance and your life, to answer all of your secret wishes and hopes, to chase away the emptiness, to fit the descriptions found in your esoteric books.  
I am supernatural, explainable and expected by you. Close your eyes. I am no danger.

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_Review?_


	3. Mirage ﴾handcrafted﴿

_(This one is unbetaed; corrections are appreciated)_

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Mirage (handcrafted)

He is free.

He is powerful.

He has magic – _true_ magic!

He is alone – that is, alone in his own mind; he has total control over his own body. He runs and jumps and lays still and laughs and even cries of joy.

_Free._

There is a world to explore; places to see; mysteries to discover and conquer; people to meet, and old friends to find again. A whole life for him to live.

_(Four walls made of papier-mâché; vaguely familiar forms far beyond the cloudy sky; eyes that never close, a mouth that always smiles, because they're painted.)_


	4. Breeze

_**AN:** Not beta-ed, but posted at the lj-community yugiohdrabbles, so I hope someone might have pointed out mistakes for me..._

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Breeze

It was easy to forget.

Life never _stopped_; it wasn't that simple. Life did not change to an endless adventure, to a nightmare, to truly surreal.

The spirit was not an everlasting oppressing force. The spirit did not just vanish when leaving him in control.

The spirit was an unsure, almost fragile presence in the back of his mind: certitude that he was not alone, and made of rare, forgetful whispers, and concrete and trivial thoughts that shaped it to a silhouette for which it was dangerously easy to fill in the details.

And it was easy to forget.

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	5. Perdre, à tous les temps de l'indicatif

_(double drabble) _

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Perdre, à tous les temps de l'indicatif

A human mind was a fragile thing.

He had never held anything as delicate in his hands without the intent to reduce it to dust.

Like so many things, a person's mind was much easier to shatter completely at once than to slowly, subtly tear down; and with every step it became harder, the edifice made if thin paper that a breeze could break down. (And with every step harder to notice how it insidiously encircled _him_.)

The trick was to remove all that hold it together until it was entirely exposed and in desperate need for support.

x

Ryou had sometimes wondered if he was cursed, until he found out as a certitude that he was.

Things that were crucial to him disappeared in increasing pace: the role-play games in which he had invested so much time and effort became a mortal danger; everyone he befriended died. His timid hope that kindred spirits might still be near him was shattered against the reality of true magic, ...

The Voice vowed to replace all it had stolen, to a price.

The terms of the contract were never clearly exposed; and the spirit kept all promises...

And Ryou knew it could not last.


	6. Sublimation

_(double drabble)  
Thank you a lot for the reviews!!_

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Sublimation

When Ryou was very young, he was often violent. He would hit his little sister, get into fights with other children, throw fits and break everything in sight when things didn't go his way.

As he became older and matured, he learnt better self-restraint, but he was still lashing out easily, and it became worse after his mother and his sister died.

Then, he discovered the role-playing games. At first, his father was cautious about the therapeutic value of pretending to massacre ogres, but it was nice to see Ryou interact with other children in a relatively peaceful way, even if it did often end with dice being thrown around and tears.

It was only when Ryou began to make his own scenarios that things changed: he created whole worlds and histories, full of traps and dangers, full of monsters and mythological creatures, and creative ways to kill and rob them. He was an excellent game master even though – or because – his scenarios tended to be creepy, and filled with as much violence as possible.

Until in character, Ryou was increasingly kind and polite. All his remaining rage was poured into his work on these games, and rendered inoffensive.


	7. Echo

_Drabble and a half; implied shonen-ai._

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Echo

Good things come to a price.

One human soul for a new doll; another new school for a whole set.

- It's his first birthday after Egypt, the first one for which he has invited them. He asked them not to bring any presents. It's not that he doesn't trust them. It's just hard to get ride of some habits. He still never opens packets his father sends.

Ryou has learned to mistrust presents: he likes shops with price-tags attached to the items, and where you can pay in cash, and small birthday parties where he provides all the food.

I was Anzu, he thinks, who asked to see the photo-album. He hands it over with a smile. When they ask, he makes things up. -

Sweet illusion for a lost memory. A voiceless presence for heavy silence. Flawless protection for isolation.

Featherlike kisses for surrender. Recognition for betrayal. Freedom for defeat.


	8. Existentialist

_Drabble and a half.  
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Existentialist

He says: let me out.

It is no longer a cry of revolt or desperation. He doesn't mean: leave, give me my body and my life back, hurt no-one. He means: let me feel that I exist.

Obstacles are removed from his path, quietly; choices are made for him, always in his interest, that is: in his body's interest, but he is nothing else now but a stolen body and imprisoned thoughts; no longer can he act, can he impact on his environment – himself – in these small, decisive, painful bits that make life, that are all that remains true, clear, real.

The Voice says, after a long silence: "I will not free you. But, if this is what you want, I will let you create a world, make all the small decisive choices that will shape its reality."

He doesn't pretend not to know where this leads; and he accepts.


	9. Sparks of Light if you sleep

_Double drabble._

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Sparks of Light (if you sleep)

The power that encircles and imprisons him is supernatural; but the being that wields it is only human and as fallible and flawed as any mortal, even though this it no longer seems to be.

Thus, while his every move, his every thought, his smallest desire are monitored without fail, the spirit will not acknowledge most of them: it cares very little about him as long as his body remains at its disposition.

He has once, in the past, to escape the effects of this eternal, unforgiving scrutiny, thrown himself forwards to death; he cannot do it twice, he doesn't have the force or the absolute despair that leaves no argument against suicide. This time, since he lives still and the presence subtly controls his life still, he will pretend it is absent, and live. And live.

So he opens up to friends again, he stays up whole nights with his games, and he refuses to think about the small foreign nudges in his mind. If he notices the Other at all, it is for its welcome protection.

It marches his body steadily to murder and destruction _(and absolute annihilation)_, but past instants of happiness at least it cannot steal.


	10. Impostor

_Drabble and a half._

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Impostor

He's deadly afraid of slipping up.

He remembers, clings to all the small details. Push down door-handles, unless they're knobs, in which case turn; one foot in front of the other, greet the elderly lady who lives next door, don't laugh at your own wounds, school is this way, Sundays are free. Keep a low profile, act natural but don't let instinct guide you from fear of stumbling on one of the things you lost.

(Can't ask for help and attract attention or they'll guess–)

Because what right does he have – no, what _reality_ is there to the statement that he is Ryou Bakura? When he exists so rarely, will not the conventions of daily life slip through his fingers and his ignorance expose him as a fraud? What if they pry the Ring from their fingers and he is the one to go with it, a paper-thin, discarded mask?


	11. Blink Once

_Double drabble._

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Blink Once

Maybe it's the incertitude that's the worst. Didn't he put the scissors down there just a minute ago? Didn't he carefully close the glue after using it? Did he remember to turn the key when he left the house? Small things that happen to everyone, and maybe you put the scissors away already, maybe you forgot to close the glue, maybe you locked your door when leaving, but – but maybe there was a moment, a minute, a few seconds of sudden death during which his hands, his fingers, his feet continued to move, to change the world around him in small subtle ways.

Is it so absurd then, to imagine that the same might be happening to his mind? Wasn't there a memory attached to this old doll, isn't there an appointment today missing from his memory, didn't he use to know what's the capital of Hungary? There are leaks in his mind born of the ring's magic, and maybe worse than the incertitude is the fear: if he lays down this game piece, won't it be gone if you blink? If you listen to a song, if you spend an afternoon, won't they have vanished from your mind tomorrow?


	12. Flame in the Dark

_Double drabble, gift!fic for StrawberryA__shes, implied shonen ai._

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Flame in the Dark

The spirit's presence is a cheerful one.

It takes joy in the destruction and the suffering it brings at the hand of its cards. It laughs, electrified, as gods close in on it, blowing them out like a candle.

And even as it lies dormant, a dark sea slowly eroding the edges of his mind, he can feel it take pleasure in the mere thought of the golden seas of blood it will spill over the world.

So when daily life sparks helpless feelings of anger and resentment in him, the spirit leaks through the creaks in his mind, fills him up with warm, fortifying hate and desire to pay back their pain a thousand times over; and there's such a _lightness_ to it, such a promise of happiness, that his fingers almost itch to act, to help it in its work of destruction.

He lets the moments pass, fearful of this fleeting wish, but he learns to cherish them like coded love-messages; because he doesn't think there's any calculation to it; it's an act of pure kindness, a simple attempt to ease his pain, a silent, sweet, _it will get better once fire rains from the skies, I promise._


End file.
